


Hurt

by Mother_North



Series: Dark Matter [9]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Dark, Disturbing Themes, Dominant Masochism, Emotional, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot, POV Outsider, Psychology, Self-Destructive Tendencies, implied promiscuity, no sunshine and rainbows, written out of nowhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: ‘Why are you like this, Yuzu?’A dark phoenix, a wild spirit, a mystery not to be solved, an angel with a black halo above his head tilted proudly…





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and it is not meant to offend anyone. It is a product of author’s imagination only. All thoughts, actions and emotions described below have nothing to do with reality.

**

 

Pain is purifying. It leaves you breathless and sweaty, yet more at ease with yourself than anything else. It clears your mind and solidifies your core. It always makes sense, it enlightens and ennobles.  A cigarette burn on a forearm, a cut of a sharp razor, a mark from teeth or a rope bound too tight..? There are different scenarios but the outcome remains the same.

You can find true dignity once you are turned to dust – paradoxically and illogically as it is; while at your lowest your wings unfold behind your back to take you further, to soar up to the skies freely.

They say pain is evil but you don’t think so. They call it a tendency for self-destruction but it is just the way you are.

Experiment and improvise with your own body and what it can endure; bitten lips to choke down a scream threatening to escape, bruised hipbones (fingerprints blooming obscenely on your unmarred skin) to indicate a route to salvation which you keep on seeking in a frenzy of despair.

You think you can see clearer while high on adrenaline, heart pounding in your ears deafeningly and all senses alert. There is no such thing as surrender, you follow the destined path unflinchingly – too proud to take a break, too eager to prove yourself worthy.

‘You’ll destroy yourself, please stop this insanity.’

You shake your head stubbornly. There is never enough. With a broken voice you exclaim.

‘Don’t you dare to stop!’

It feels like drowning; muddy waters of bestial lust closing above your head.

Oxygen deprivation is burning your lungs, reality fading away slowly as tiny white dots are dancing at the periphery of your blurred vision. Strong fingers are squeezing harder and harder – hopefully they’ll leave telling marks in their wake so that everyone could see explicitly a testimony to your endurance.

You think it is the best way to redeem yourself in your own eyes. The innocent boy has long been dead and now there is only _your present self_ to be dealt with.

Suffering is a cure. It makes you alive, it makes you real.

Ghosts of past defeats and phantom pains of lost opportunities disintegrate into nonexistence once the whole world concentrates into an impact of a hard slap or a painful bite: too raw and physical to ignore, too damn exciting not to succumb to a temptation of falling apart completely.

Being ravished makes you whole again. You think it is right to feel this way. You grit your teeth in defiant determination, jaw clenched tightly; body tense as a tight bowstring. You are ready to shoot and hit your target. You are deadly when cornered and the dark flames eating you from the inside are as blistering as ever.

The sky is the limit when it comes to perfecting oneself.

You think you are _beautiful_ and there is no denying of the fact. You enjoy simply lying still, listening to your erratic heartbeat, sweet ache pulsing between your spread legs (no need in faked shyness; your perfect mask is thrown away at this moment of glaring vulnerability). Weird elation is coursing in your system and you know the pair of eyes devouring your naked body won’t penetrate through your defenses to access your soul, for there is a _hole_ in its place.

You admit you are greedy and selfish and _not a sweet prince_ at all.

You are who you are whether they like it or not.

You like to take more than to give; you like to divide and conquer and to be worshipped – with hungry lips and eager hands.

You chose a victim by playing a role of a prey.

You are a hunter. You always were and you’ll always be.

You are not a harmless and a naïve vestal sexless creature, far from it…There is moon and there are stars and then there are also black holes in your dilated pupils. You suck life forces so that you can live. You accumulate power by making others your willing slaves. They come to you unconstrained: crawling on their own hands and knees, ready to please.

You can be a benevolent _Master_ but only to those who proved they could make you _beg_.

The brightest stars shine in the darkest pits of Hell and you’ve learned to cherish their light.

‘I want you to belong to me.’

You hear these words yet too often. You smirk haughtily and the dark embers of your piercing eyes are smoldering. Countless encounters and endless pleas to let them stay; the faces you remember one night to only forget completely on the following morning.

Sun chases away shadows of night but it doesn’t stand a chance against the ones under your eyes. Your pale skin is translucent; touches (no matter how tainted they might be) can’t scar it permanently.

You are both sinful and pure, as a glacier of poisoned water.

They try their hardest to make you melt, to make you succumb to their wishes. Strings attached to your heart remain intact; you are your own puppeteer.

_‘He likes to be a Mystery.’_

It is true.

You claim souls and they pay homage to your fatal attractiveness. They are orbiting around you and you let them to.

‘You are too beautiful to be real…’

Heartfelt praises to set aflame your cold and lonely nights with decadent passion. You writhe and wither – pouring out your emotions, thoughts running wild, basic instincts reigning supreme.

On the crumpled bedsheets they erect your altar.

They are seeking a secret route into the _inner sanctum_ of your body.

 Delights of flesh to lose your mind and to preserve the remnants of your sanity.

‘Isn’t it beautiful to burn?’

You are whispering with dry lips into a pillow. Body tattered and torn but the spirit is burning as bright as ever. You wanted it that way and salty tears on your cheeks seem sweeter than anything you have ever tasted.

‘Why are you like this, Yuzu?’

A dark phoenix, a wild spirit, a mystery not to be solved, an angel with a black halo above his head tilted proudly…

You are sliding your trembling hands down your sculptured torso seductively; there are Gates of Eden between your powerful thighs.

There is black lace and tiny _golden feathers_ embroidered on the finest of dark silk to complete the picture of your wicked beauty; a devilishly soft features and succulent mouth to drink sin of.

‘Where are your wings, Yuzu?’

You turn away to lie on your stomach and there are two protruding shoulder blades beneath your smooth ivory skin.

‘Can’t you see them?’

_Yes, I can._

‘You are unbelievably strong. I know you’ll fly again.’

You nod your acceptance and smile.

 

**


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